2025-05-08 20:39:57The clubhouse roared with life. Music blasted from every corner, drinks flowed like rivers, and laughter bounced off the glass walls. Rickon sat at the center of it all, legs sprawled and arms wide, as if the entire party existed solely for his amusement. He didn’t care much for the noise or the chaos—what mattered was that the ladies adored him. Every flirtatious glance, every giggle aimed his way fueled his already inflated ego.
And Beauty, ever the drama queen, was livestreaming the entire event, pouting into her camera as she called him “Zaddy Rickon.”
Rickon grinned like a devil in velvet. This was his realm, his world, and the crowd fed off his presence like moths to a flame.
When he was buzzed enough to feel invincible, he clapped loudly, silencing the music for a moment. “Yo, Chance!” he called, his voice slurred slightly. “You bring anything for my girl, Chloe? Don’t tell me you showed up here empty-handed to just feed off her like the charity case you are.”
Chloe, standing close to the bar in her sequined silver dress, stiffened at the mention of her name. She didn’t appreciate being called “his girl” or the way he was speaking to Chance, but she had to admit—Rickon had paid for everything. The private clubhouse, the open bar, the decorations, even the over-the-top six-tier cake with her face printed on it. It wasn’t how she imagined celebrating her birthday, but it was... extravagant. Unforgettable. So she had to play the perfect hostess.
She looked at Chance, her expression hopeful yet guarded. Surely he'd not come empty-handed. He was too thoughtful for that. A gadget, maybe? A gift card? She knew Chance had never been flashy.
“Let’s see what Mr. Modest brought,” someone chuckled.
Vinita, leaning against the backrest with her wine glass tilted, smirked. “Well, Chance gave me the cheapest box of chocolates I've ever seen for my birthday—and we were dating then,” she said pointedly. “I wonder what a ‘just friend’ gets?”
The group erupted in laughter. Chloe winced.
Chance didn’t respond to their jeers. He walked over to her calmly, holding a sleek black gift bag with the signature gold “LV” seal embossed at the front. He offered it to her without flourish, just a quiet, “Happy birthday, Chloe.”
Chloe opened the bag and pulled out a stunning black purse—sleek, structured, and unfamiliar. It was beautiful, no doubt, but not something anyone had seen before. Murmurs started.
“What kind of LV is that?”
“Wait... is that real?”
Rickon narrowed his eyes. He didn't like that the buzz was shifting to Chance. He stood and sauntered over, reaching for the bag like a hawk circling prey. Chloe hesitated, but he snatched it from her hands with a mock-charming grin. “Mind if I take a closer look, princess?”
He turned it over, examined the stitching, the gold hardware, and the subtle pattern woven into the leather.
Then he stilled.
“This... this is the Louis Vuitton Black Widow,” Rickon announced. “It’s a one-of-a-kind design. Only one ever made. It was auctioned tonight at a private collector's event. A very private event—only twenty people were invited.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Chance watched him with a quiet smile, hands folded behind his back. He didn’t have to say a word— Rickon was confirming the truth for him.
“Wait, wait,” someone said. “How do you know all that, Rickon?”
Rickon rolled his eyes. “Because my mother was at that auction. She was the one who almost got it. Lost the bid to some crazy billionaire who paid three million dollars for it.”
A stunned silence fell.
Everyone turned to Chance. He was suddenly the topic of the night. Girls were already plotting how to sidle up to him.
“You bought that?” Jessica asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s a $3 million bag.”
Rickon scoffed. “Please. Chance? Don’t make me laugh.”
But the murmurs had already begun.
“Did he steal it?”
“No way, he doesn't look like someone with that kind of money.”
“Maybe he’s like those secret billionaire characters on Meganovel... you know, hidden identity, fake poverty, all that jazz.”
Rickon paled.
He couldn’t let that narrative take root.
He laughed loudly, clapping his hands. “Y’all think he bought that bag? Come on now! You really think Chance is some mystery billionaire? Maybe next you’ll say he owns half the country and just ‘forgot’ to mention it!”
The crowd laughed nervously.
Rickon pressed on. “The bidding started at two hundred grand. Only people who had pre-approved bank guarantees could participate. My mom had to back out because the buyer went nuclear with the price. Three million. Three. Million. You think this guy has three million to spend on a purse?”
More laughter. This time, crueler.
Rickon’s grin sharpened. “He probably bought a replica. You can get high-grade copies from China for, like... a thousand bucks max. Heck, some of them even come with fake certificates and QR codes.”
The energy shifted.
Suddenly, the awe turned to suspicion.
“Wait, are you saying it’s fake?” one of the girls asked.
“Imagine that.” Rickon said smugly. “You guys know how we run things here—either the real deal or no deal at all.”
“Either the real deal or no deal at all!” The room echoed in drunken agreement.
Chloe’s brows furrowed. She looked at Chance, silently asking for confirmation.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Rickon cut in.
“Hopefully Julia Franklin becomes the next president; people like you—counterfeit supporters, fraud enablers—be sure, you'll be standing behind bars.”
Boos filled the room. Someone threw a napkin. A few girls hissed and muttered about wasted beauty. Chloe stepped forward, trying to salvage the moment, but it was too late.
Chance felt anger ripple through him. But he didn't let it show. He didn’t have to. He nodded slowly. “Happy birthday, Chloe,” he said softly. Then he turned and walked out.
The door closed behind him with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than the music that started up again.
Rickon raised his glass, grinning. “To real class.”
But Chloe didn’t smile. Her hands clutched the bag to her chest, her gaze fixed on the door Chance had just walked through.
Something about this didn’t sit right.
And somewhere deep in her gut, she knew the bag was real. Knew Chance had done something insane, something reckless—but not fake.
Never ever fake.
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Chapter 55
The prestigious stone arches of Elite Society University gleamed under the late morning sun as Chance stepped out of the town car, his bag slung casually over one shoulder. The familiar hum of campus life surrounded him—students laughing near the fountain, the rustle of lecture notes being shuffled, the distant sound of someone practicing violin in the arts block.But today, it all felt a little quieter.Or maybe he had just grown louder inside.The moment his shoes hit the main quad, a familiar voice called out from behind a column of ivy.“Chance!”He turned.Chloe jogged toward him, a curious mix of surprise and concern on her face. Her chestnut waves were pulled into a loose braid, and she had that look she always wore when something was off—but she hadn’t decided yet whether it was good or bad.“You’re not going to believe it,” she said, falling into step beside him.Chance tilted his head. “Try me.”“Prince Harry left this morning.” She announced like she was delivering a specta
Chapter 54
The morning sun filtered gently through the floor-length windows of the Banks Estate breakfast conservatory, spilling golden warmth across the long marble table and bouncing off silver cutlery. Outside, birds chirped across the manicured lawn, and a light breeze rustled the towering hedges surrounding the estate.Inside, the air smelled of fresh-ground coffee, sourdough toast, smoked salmon, and jasmine tea.Chance, in a soft navy polo, sat at the head of the table, flipping through a portfolio on his tablet, his expression calm but thoughtful. To his right was Philip Banks, dressed in a tailored tan vest, sipping his usual lemon tea with the quiet grace of a seasoned strategist. Gary, hair a little tousled from sleep, lounged across from Chance, already halfway through his third croissant. At the far end sat Julia, elegant in a pale linen wrap, her poise unshaken even after a sleepless night.For a few moments, there was only the quiet clink of plates and the rustle of digital paper.
Chapter 53
That same night, Chance had to revisit the documents of the will he had received just to be sure that whatever Roney Bashan had claimed was nothing but lies. Even if his mother had lashed out on him angrily, he couldn’t deny the fact that she was right. Ever since he stepped into the O’ Connor’s shoes, he hadn’t really taken full responsibility of the assets he had inherited.All he did was to take note of the financial records but not once had he been actively involved in any of the businesses that were generating those income, and with this issue with the land, he knew it was time for him to take full responsibility.They were still checking through the documents when Gary held high a piece of document. It was a land deed with Steven O’ Connor’s signature showing a transfer of ownership of the land to Roney Bashan as an act of goodwill.“Are you seeing this?” Gary asked, his voice low, stunned. “It’s like your father gave Archerlands to Roney six months before he died.”Chance didn
Chapter 52
Roney Bashan emerged from the side corridor, wiping his hands with a silk cloth like a man fresh off a feast. The summit was over and the guests have all returned home, leaving him with that feeling of satisfaction that he had been able to announce the erection of his most revered boyhood dream, “Crown City.”As a boy growing up in the shadow of rising empires and watching his father bow before men who controlled the world then, like Steven O’Connor was currently doing, Roney had made a silent vow: one day, he would build something that no dynasty could overshadow.To him, Crown City was never just concrete and glass—it was a living monument, a futuristic kingdom where innovation, control, and legacy fused into one.A city where his name would not merely be written on buildings… but carved into history.And now, with the O’Connor legacy seemingly quiet and their land in his grip, he believed it was time—his time to be the major player in the game of wealth and power until he finally
Chapter 51
The stage of the O’Connor World Pavilion shimmered beneath a cascade of amber lighting as the guests settled into seats. Cameras rolled, glasses clinked, and the buzz of expectation ran electric through the room.This was it—the main address of the evening. Every mogul, tycoon, and high-ranking royal in attendance leaned forward, eyes fixed on the man approaching the stage with the ease of a seasoned performer.Roney Bashan, the patriarch of the Bashan Dynasty.A titan in his own right, he wore power like a second skin. His dark double-breasted suit gleamed under the lights, and his salt-and-pepper beard framed a face sculpted by decades of corporate conquest. Roney Bashan was not just a business ally—he was one of the few men who had stood beside Steven O’Connor during the meteoric rise of the O’Connor Empire.He had witnessed firsthand as Steven transformed a modest family enterprise into a global juggernaut—brick by brick, deal by deal—turning once-forgotten corners of the economy
Chapter 50
The Intercontinental Real Estate Summit—I.R.E.S.—wasn’t just another billionaire conference. It was the event. The kind of summit where invitations were hand-delivered in armored cars, security clearance rivaled that of the G20, and no one without a nine-figure portfolio even made it past the valet.Held inside the O’Connor World Pavilion—a gleaming, cathedral-like structure in Manhattan’s Financial District—the air inside shimmered with legacy, influence, and generational power.The Bashans had really done a good job in putting everything together for this conference and that was an undeniable fact.The guest list had been kept airtight and there was no room for anyone who hadn’t received an invitation, no matter who that person was. This was what they called “strictly by invitation,” and it was worth it, owing to the fact that this summit was for the very great minds that ruled in the real estate space. The Bashan family, who were one of the top players in matters of real estate a
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